Anger Burger

In this strange world, I get emails from PR companies who want to send me free sardines. And I accept, because it’s the morning and I’m tired and also, free sardines. They suggest that maybe Anger Burger wants to try out some of the great recipes that King Oscar has on their website? Sure, whatever. Canned fish. Sounds like something I’d fall for.

After I had my coffee, I went to the King Oscar website and found that there are, in fact, many interesting recipes. Key word: interesting. But still. Avocado bowls with lofoten pâté? What the hell is lofoten pâté? King Oscar isn’t telling, and the internet is suspiciously silent on it as well. But also, a wide variety of salads with fish thrown in for kicks, like the Ko Royal Tuna Salad; walnut, olive and tuna pasta salad? Sure, what the hell.

But when the package arrived, I found my plans had altered, because instead of the variety of stinky tinned delights I’d thought were headed my way, I got three packages of sardines. Two standard, one boneless and skinless (which seems petty, because by the time you eat them they’re basically denuded into fish paste anyway).

You Maniacs! You blew it up! Ah, damn you! God damn you all to hell! Oh shit. Okay. This is what I have to do.

I like sardines. I buy them on occasion, and I’d like the people at King Oscar (and you, I suppose) to know that King Oscar brand sardines are of a very fine quality. I just don’t think you should make sushi out of them. This is also the moment where I realized I’d lost my sushi rolling mat.

Still, I’m not new to the sushi, so off we went. The dog lost her fucking dogmind while I was making the sushi, mostly because she’s allowed to have cooked rice, and secondly because something dead and from the sea was in the kitchen, which is basically dog Christmas.

This is not great sushi. It was okay. Rice and seaweed and cucumber can go a long way toward convincing your brain that it is indeed sushi, but I just couldn’t shake the apocalypse birthday feeling: it’s been so long since anyone had real sushi, that when you bring this out surprise, we found a package of seaweed! no one can remember what real sushi tasted like and when you all eat this everyone gets quiet and teary and can’t swallow because they’re pretty sure this is what sushi used to taste like, but with each chew everyone gets one mental process closer to comprehending that we will never have real sushi again.

First four people who want a coupon for a free King Oscar product let me know, use your real email address in the comments field box that asks for your email, not the actual comment area, I’ll email you and ask you in private where I should mail the coupon to.

I’m not entering because like, Cape Town (and we have our own sardines here), but just to say it’s hard to overstate my satisfaction that you TRIED homemade sushi with tinned fish. Fail or not, this is the kind of thing I’d do, but now I don’t have to.
Thank you.

I am sometimes overwhelmed with a feeling of public duty, and the sardine sushi was one of them. There’s also this thing where I feel compelled to make unflattering faces in photographs, we started calling it “Terrible Self.” I guess it’s a thing I have. Maybe I should talk to a therapist about it.

I have to admit, I have a fondness for sardines in mustard. Complete my lil’ smorgy setup with some fresh artisan bread-rounds , a couple of Babybel goudas and a frosty Heineken [insert Homer Simpson donut drooling sound here]. I’ve tried any-and-all brands and the one I keep coming back to is King Oscar. Those Nords know their fish.
– On a whole different plane (pun hiding there); I wonder just how many Anger Burger readers grok the title of this post. About a year ago I kept hearing Sunday and the Viking talkin’ about ‘The Cake’. Then I started seeing it in very obtuse references around the netly-webs. So I asked Sunday, ‘What’s all this shite about ‘The Cake’ and why in Sagan’s name was everyone bitchin’ about it [The Cake] being ‘A Lie!’.
Sunday gave me her standard eye-rolling and disdainful sigh and asked if I seriously had not played any of the ‘Portal’ game series yet. She couldn’t believe it because I am the world’s oldest avid gamer (Guinness, are you there?).
Embarrassingly, I had not.
** Disclaimer: Neither Sunday, His Highness King Oscar, Babybel, Heineken or the makers of Portal have given me shit for my unsolicited word-smithery here. I wish the fuck they would. (Especially Heineken, lotsa Heineken please. Send it to Sunday, I’ll go ‘visit’ her then!)
Addendum: I swear to Buddha, ‘spell-checker’ red-lined me and suggested I use the term ‘word-slithery’ rather than -smithery!
Damn, they’re on to me.

Though I missed this entry when you first posted it, the stink of sardines apparently wended their way through the whole darned internet to get to me: two days ago, I randomly tossed a can of sardines into my shopping basket.

The can is still lurking in our cupboard, probably skeeving out my long-time vegetarian husband (who is equal parts entertained and baffled by my occasional but powerful cravings for odd organ meats and fishies). Just before I clicked over here, I decided today was the day I’d plop those oily, bony fishes onto a paper towel to drain, then crunch ’em down on plain wheat crackers. And then not feel good for a few hours, but also feel great for a few hours.

Thanks so much for the coupon. I enjoyed the most delicious can of sardines while my family looked on with a squeamish curiosity. I piled a few onto a rye crisp cracker, and added some slices of fresh tomato and red onion. yummmmm!

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